


Midnattssol

by krankittoeleven



Series: Falls to Climb [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Eivor sass, Fingering, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, POV - Vili, Pre-Relationship, canon adjacent, it's awkward and silly because they are idiots, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29386593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krankittoeleven/pseuds/krankittoeleven
Summary: Vili is on the edge of history, but in order to move forward, he must leave something behind.
Relationships: Eivor & Vili & Sigurd, Eivor/Vili Hemmingson, Vili & Sigurd
Series: Falls to Climb [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2146845
Comments: 9
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Midnattssol = Midnight Sun
> 
> This is not the next fic I was intending to write, but here we are anyway.
> 
> No spoilers for the game, not really. If you know who Vili is you should know the scenario that is taking place.

Vili stares across the bay, out to the distant horizon, the muscles of his horse twitching gently beneath him. He loosens his pull on the reins so that the young stallion can investigate the ground below them, pushing dirt around with its delicate muzzle, searching for scraps of grass to graze on. It’s the middle of summer and they are far to the north where the sun shines for most of the day and night for more than a quarter of the year.

Their “guide”, Frode, draws rein beside him. The horses they borrowed come from Frode’s small fishing village, the only established full time settlement of any kind this far north. Frode had offered to lead them to this place, but once it was clear there was really only one path their horses could have followed, Vili had allowed his mount to meander ahead of the group. There were things on his mind that were keeping him unsettled, and he didn’t want Eivor to notice. This whole trip had been an exercise in hiding in plain sight. But he’d needed to come, for his own sake. 

Sigurd and Eivor draw rein as well; Sigurd to Frode’s left, Eivor to Vili’s right. A flutter of wings signals Synin’s arrival; Vili’s doesn’t have to look to know that the raven has landed on Eivor’s shoulder. They are all abnormally quiet, even the animals

In Rygjafylke, the sun is often obscured by mountains after midday, and in the summer, the long, lingering light of day is more like a luminous glow in what is normally the dark hours. Here, though, the sun could be seen in its usual bright and shining radiance as it makes a slow path downward, towards the horizon. It looks so bold out there with nothing to share its view in the sky. The water in the crescent shaped bay below them reflects the sun’s light, highlighting the ripples and waves created by the seals entering and exiting the water. Vili loves places like this and wishes it hadn't been so far from his home. He would have visited here often.

Vili watches as the sun appears to slowly touch the horizon before starting on its upward course again, like a skipping stone glancing off the surface of a lake, only the sun appears to move infinitely slower. Vili wonders if he’ll find such sights like this in England. Or if he will even have time for them.

It is Sigurd who breaks the quiet with a yawn, reminding Vili just how late it is despite the sunlight all around them. They had been traveling hard for a week, and still had a few days to go by longship before they were in familiar territory again.

“It is a glorious sight, Frode,” Sigurd says to their guide, “and you have been a most gracious host, but we must return and rest before we set sail early.”

Vili looks to Eivor beside him, uninterested in the niceties exchanged between Sigurd and Frode. Diplomacy was not his thing, he’d only come on this journey as an afterthought, wanting one last chance to-

Vili’s thoughts are cut off by a caw from Synin.

“Oh hush,” Eivor says to the raven, smiling, as he digs in a small pouch for an unidentifiable bit of meat, “you spoil the moment.”

Vili smiles, certain that it is Eivor who is trained and not the bird.

“You’ll burn a hole in my flesh if you keep staring like that, arse-stick.”

Eivor’s attention remains solely on Synin, but Vili can see a smile prick the corner of Eivor’s mouth. Vili looks down at the pommel on his saddle, tries not to let a flush cross his face; not because he was staring - they’d caught each others’ lingering gazes before - but because Eivor’s voice in these candid moments always went straight to the wrong places. He wonders often if the wolf’s bite had anything to do with the sound of Eivor’s voice, as if it had distorted the passage through which it traveled, turning it into something wispy and different from other voices he’d become familiar with. Vili gnaws at his lip, his thoughts not making his situation easier.

He has watched heads and arms and hands go flying through the air; he’s stabbed, sliced, shot and dismembered enough soldiers and guards that he has already lost count and he’s not even seen his twentieth winter. But this, telling Eivor he’s leaving for England with his father...it's going to be the worst thing he’s ever had to do.

Vili is relieved when horses start to step into motion, but he opts to linger behind, gesturing to Sigurd to come closer when they make eye contact. It’s not until Eivor and Frode have put distance between them and have started up their own conversation that Vili is satisfied. All the while, his eyes are on Eivor’s back, a fierce knot forming in the pit of his stomach.

“Is everything well?” Sigurd asks when the silence goes on too long.

“Sigurd,” Vili is feeling uncharacteristically nervous all of a sudden. “I have a request.”

“Oh, what is it?” Sigurd looks curious.

“When we get back, I need some time alone with Eivor. I was hoping you could make sure no one bothers us.”

“Oh?” Sigurd repeats, this time with a ridiculous grin on his face. “Are you finally going to get that sexual tension out of the way?”

Vili swallows hard, certain he’s gone white as fresh snowfall, except for the fact that he also feels like he has the worlds brightest flush on his cheeks. He tries so hard to laugh off Sigurd’s remark. That he thought Sigurd would never notice makes him feel like a fool.

“No...listen-” Vili runs a hand through his hair. Why was this so hard, even with Sigurd? “My father and the rest of the clan...we are joining the Heathen Army, we’re going to fight for the Ragnarsons in England.”

“When?” Sigurd’s eyebrows arch, his expression is all business now.

“When I get back. They asked and my father answered the call.”

“Lucky bastard. My father would rather sit here and let Kjotve pick him apart like the ravens pick at dried up corpses.”

Vili felt for the man, being denied the glory he wished to chase after. It struck him how this conversation of warfare was so much easier to have than the other.

“I was wondering why you came with us. This whole trip isn’t exactly your speed. Not that I enjoy it, much. But I am duty bound to be my father’s go between and you are not.”

Sigurd is looking straight through him, now. There is no point in lying.

“It is. My father gave me time to get my affairs in order.”

“Strange choice of words,” Sigurd says, smirking.

“I find all words strange as of late, my friend.”

Moments of silence pass between them, Eivor and Frode have disappeared below the rise of a hill, Vili wants to chase after them, afraid to lose any more time with Eivor, but he forces himself to get a grip over his emotions. The knot in his stomach grows tight.

Sigurd breaks the silence.

“You will be joining us in Fornburg, then?”

“Probably the best course. He’ll know something is amiss if we dock in-”

Vili is interrupted by a series of caws above him and then Synin is landing on the nearest boulder, performing a delicate series of hops and turns. Vili laughs thinking somewhere not far away Eivor notices his absence. The knot in his stomach eases slightly. They would get through this, there was no other option.

Vili waves off the bird’s display with one gloved hand. 

“We are coming, your highness. You can let your troll-breathed underling know.”

Synin turns her head to an unnatural angle, then lifts off into the air with a final caw.

“Do you ever wonder if that bird is the one running things around here?” Sigurd asks, still staring after Synin.

“Frequently.” 

“Come on arse-stick, let’s not keep them waiting any longer.”

Sigurd slaps him on the shoulder. It’s weird to hear Eivor’s nickname coming from Sigurd’s mouth, but Vili doesn’t mind, it helps ease the tension coursing through his entire being. 

  
  
  
  
  


It probably should not have come as any kind of surprise that there was a feast underway when they docked in Fornburg, ostensibly held in their honor, even if their journey did not elicit much glory. 

“They will take any excuse to drink and eat well beyond their limits,” Sigurd says, with the slightest roll of the eyes.

“I don’t see why they need an excuse,” Vili replies.

Sigurd laughs loudly, “That’s most  _ you _ thing you’ve said since we left on our little voyage.”

Vili laughs as well, and looks for Eivor, catching sight of him heading straight for the longhouse. 

He wants to wash off somewhere, take off the travel grit and grime, but he also wants to make sure Eivor doesn’t get too drunk on this particular occasion. He hopes he can find a delicate balance, one that gives him the right amount of courage for the conversation but still keeps them out of the bushes by the night’s end.

Vili walks to the longhouse, Sigurd’s footsteps following behind.

“I am going to speak with my father first, I will join you both soon,” he says as they enter. Vili nods, spots Eivor and goes to meet him, but decides instead just to watch.

Others from the trip - Dag, Arvid, Erik, Grete and all the rest - mingle within the longhouse, rolling their eyes and laughing at the celebration “in their name” but after a while Vili has eyes for only Eivor.

Vili sips from his mug and watches Eivor move from place to place, person to person, easily moving from one topic to another even if Vili knows the topic would bore Eivor to tears, always wanting to please people if he could. It seems so glaringly obvious that Eivor is destined for something so much greater than being just another pawn standing his ground on bloodstained dirt. It was a pity that like so many bound to be great at something, Eivor didn’t want it, or at least acted like he didn’t.

“I’m telling you, you can’t leave without resolving...whatever this is,” Sigurd wakes Vili from his thoughts with a flourish of his hands as he walks up beside him. “You might as well scream it to the rafters, because the way you stare is not subtle. If I’m the only one who has noticed then this settlement is in sorry shape.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“I’m sure you said that about women, too, but you figured it out.” Sigurd laughs and elbows Vili playfully.

“ _ That _ is not what I meant.”

Vili takes a long pull from his mug and notices that he’s lost track of Eivor. When he finds him again, Eivor has a mug in each hand and Vili groans, worried things are about to get prickly.

Vili watches as Eivor gestures for a few people to leave their seats, then hops up on the long, communal bench.

“Listen closely everyone!” Eivor commands and most everyone in the longhouse quiets and turns their attention to him as he raises one mug in the air. “Listen I say and I will tell you a tale of excitement and much daring and bravery. A tale of the son and heir of Styrbjorn Jarl himself, and his faithful companions Vili Hemmingson, and of course, myself, the Wolf-Kissed.”

Eivor receives a hearty round of drunken applause. Vili smiles and pinches the bridge of his nose. This was going to be a long night. Sigurd is shaking his head, but smiling.

“And what, pray tell, did our heroes three encounter on their journey? Was it mighty Draugr, left behind on the battlefield, unclaimed in death by the Valkyrie?” Eivor pauses, drinks from one mug while the assembled masses wait silently for him to continue. 

“No,” he says quietly, “it was not.”

There is a collective sigh of disappointment from the crowd.

“Was it a mighty army of Kjotve’s men, out for blood?” Eivor pauses again, drinks. The crowd is quiet again, and hanging on his every word. Vili is too, even though he knows the real story has no glorious end. 

“No,” his words are quiet again “it was not.”

The collective sigh of disappointment is becoming a shout.

“Was it the incredible beast, the Bear of the Blue Waters?” Eivor asks, a third time, and this time he finishes the contents of one mug and slams it down on the tabletop. 

“No,” he shouts, wagging a finger, “it was not!”

“Well what was it then?!” someone shouts, and Vili doesn’t know the man by name but he is certain Eivor does. Eivor looks at him through ale squinted eyes. 

“My dearest Ralf, I would have told you if you hadn’t opened your mead-hole.” Everyone laughs, Vili included. The whole scene makes Vili’s heart ache to think of the things he is going to miss. Not just Eivor, but what he is bound to become.

“No, it was not Draugr, nor soldiers of bloodlust, or a mighty beast of legend...My dear friends, we faced the worst thing that three mighty Drengr could ever imagine...”

The crowd is hushed again, waiting. Eivor lifts his mug to the roof.

“It was our mortal enemy...diplomacy!”

The longhouse erupts in shouts and whistles and boos and laughter, as if Eivor had shouted the most foul word of all. Vili is laughing and so is Sigurd, but then Eivor is gesturing for quiet once again.

“I know, I know. It is a tale of woe, but our dear Sigurd led us through to victory.” He shakes a fist in the air with mock pride.

Sigurd receives a loud round of applause and waves it off, looking almost embarrassed.

“And, of course, you all know Vili.”

There is a chorus of affirmatives and whistles. Vili tries to wave it off as well. Eivor is looking into his mug, like he is trying to find his next words. The knot in Vili’s stomach is returning, there is something in Eivor’s voice…

“Much like me, Vili was not born here. And even though he has a family and a clan of his own, you have welcomed him here as well and called him family and friend.”

Vili is finding it hard to breathe, he looks at Sigurd and notices all eyes are on him.

“So it is with a heavy heart…”

_ No… _

“...that I must tell you all…”

_ Gods no, how did he find out? _

“...that Vili is leaving us for distant shores and glory we can only dream of. To fight under the banner of the Ragnarsons with father and clan at his side.” Eivor tips back head and mug, and empties his other drink. “We will miss you,  _ brother _ .”

All around Vili are cries of  _ skål _ , other Drengr slapping him on the back, jealous or proud, it's all the same. Some are beating their mugs and sword hilts on the tables. Sigurd’s head is bowed, fingertips pressing into tightly shut eyelids. Vili lifts his mug, he doesn’t want to look unappreciative of the send off, he plays to the crowd for Eivor’s sake. He finishes off his drink, and stares desperately at Eivor, who isn’t staring back at him so much as through him. All he wants to do is sink down to his knees and plead forgiveness if that’s what it will take for him to stop staring that way.

Vili watches as Eivor steps down from the bench and looks like he’s heading straight for him, only he adjusts his course at the last second and heads outside the longhouse.

Vili gives Sigurd an icy glare, and Sigurd raises is hands near his head.

“I did not tell him, I swear!”

For all the anger boiling in his blood at the thought of Sigurd betraying his confidence, Vili believes him.

“Do you want me to find him?”

“No,” Vili replies, finally able to speak again, “I will find him myself.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Eivor doesn’t want to be found, Vili knows he won't be able to find him. For all the time Vili has spent here, Eivor knows the lands better than he ever will. But, if Eivor does want to be found it won’t be hard. Eivor will leave clues, even if he doesn’t realize it, and Vili thinks that, right now, Eivor wants to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is going to be three chapters instead of two. This chapter is shorter, but when I got to the final line of this one it just felt like a natural place to pause. No change in warnings, tags or spoilers since the last chapter.
> 
> Thanks for all the love so far! It's been a while since I've found a pair of characters like these two that I wanted to root for so hard.

Outside the longhouse, Vili stops to think things through, the cool night air a crisp feeling against his flushed face. Dusk lingers long around him, and he is glad for the little bit of light this late, he’ll need every bit of it to find Eivor, or at least Eivor’s trail.

If Eivor doesn’t want to be found, Vili knows he won't be able to find him. For all the time Vili has spent here, Eivor knows the lands better than he ever will. _But_ , if Eivor _does_ want to be found it won’t be hard. Eivor will leave clues, even if he doesn’t realize it, and Vili thinks that, right now, Eivor wants to be found. Vili starts his search with slow footsteps, willing his body to calm down, to return to his stoic and steadfast self, his eyes searching the trees as he walks, with no real destination in mind.

He doesn’t lend much credit to the first raven he sees, nor the second, they are, after all, common to this area. To see a few around Fornburg is not at all strange; in fact it would be more strange to see none.

When Vili sees a third raven along the same path through the huts of Fornburg he pays more attention, then finds two more perched on a fence, one with its beak tucked in its feathers, the other pecking at the wood beam between its claws.

Eivor has left his clues, of that Vili is certain.

No one, not even Svala or Valka, have any real idea of what Eivor’s connection to the ravens really means, and sometimes it seems that Eivor knows least of all. Synin is the only one that ever lands on Eivor’s shoulder or arm, the only one that takes food from him, and the only one that Eivor ever seems to truly acknowledge. Most seem happy to think of it as a good omen, a blessing to the Raven Clan that Odin’s favored companions saw fit to look after one of their own.

Sometimes Vili thinks that they are a strange representation of parts of Eivor that he himself doesn’t acknowledge. He often doesn’t know that they are near, and in unusual quantities, until Vili, or someone else, points them out. When Eivor is sad or hurt or ill, the ravens loom around in trees, on fences, on rocks, on the ground, waiting, watching, seeing. When Eivor is angry they circle in the sky, cawing and diving, not in a great cloud or swarm, but just a few, enough to notice something isn't natural about the display.

And when Eivor wants them to, they will lead you right to him.

So Vili follows the raven trail, using the time to collect and compose himself, unsure if he should explain himself, or apologize or just beg forgiveness. He had been so certain they would get past this after his conversation with Sigurd, but now his own stupidity was getting in the way. Of course Eivor would find out, that was the sort of fate the Nornir liked to weave. The kind that laughed in your face when you thought everything was going according to your own foolish plans.

Vili keeps walking, lost in thought, occasionally glancing to see if he is still on the right trail. He has an idea of where he is being led, but still, he keeps an eye out for his raven guides, until he is certain there is only one place he could be going. Vili thinks he probably shouldn’t have even needed the ravens to guide him here, he should have known from the start.

Up ahead is a meadow and if it could talk, it would have stories to tell. Stories of boys growing up together, dodging rocks slung from slings, play fighting with wooden axes and swords, then real ones, arrows shot as far as one could see. Stories of nicks and cuts and gashes as they grew older, when play fighting became sparring and sparring became a contest that had to be won. 

And through that, another story would weave itself a home, a story of boot clad feet leaning against each other, of the backs of hands touching gently, a story of heads on shoulders, of hugs and fingers ruffling through hair, lingering longer than good natured teasing would generally account for. There are dreams of glory shared and promises made, the kind of promises childhood always demands and adulthood always destroys.

A raven’s call shakes Vili from his memories and from a million others Vili is certain he would know hers anywhere, for Synin has a touch of pride in her voice that she could have only learned with so much time spent not with her kind but amongst humans. Her call draws Vili’s attention to where Eivor sits on a large rock, head in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. Eivor’s back is to Vili and he takes a deep breath before he approaches. He doesn’t bother trying to be quiet. If Synin knows he’s there, then so does Eivor.

“Eivor…?” Vili says his name quietly, almost too quietly to hear, but he knows Eivor hears him when his body goes tense.

He keeps walking towards him, unsure of what to say. And then he thinks that at this point, he might as well ask the one thing he really wants to know.

“How did you-”

“How did I know? I heard Styrbjorn talking to his advisors before we left for the North and he said that your father was to join the Ragnarsons.” Vili is at a loss on how to read Eivor. He sounds angry, biting every word he speaks, but he’s not shouting, not even being loud. “And then _you_ showed up right before we left and I knew it was true, why else would you join us on such a boring trip? I know you well enough, you aren’t _that_ starved for my attention.”

 _No,_ Vili thinks, _I really, truly am._

“Eivor, my friend, please forgive me,” he has decided that being stoic and stubborn isn't going to work in this situation and he wants to leave Norway with this friendship intact. Eivor will be an important ally someday, he is sure of it. “I did not want to spoil our last trip together with unhappy news.”

“Well, you would have had to spoil something, eventually,” Eivor sounds almost petty as he wipes a tunic sleeve across his face. Vili’s old friend _knot-in-the-pit-of-his-stomach_ reminds him that it is still there when the thought that Eivor had shed tears on his account crosses his mind. He wishes he could carve it out and stomp on it mercilessly.

“Eivor, I know, but...I guess I just wanted to tell you...privately.”

“I ruined that for you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.”

Eivor stands, turns around. Vili sees his wet eyes and it crushes him to know he is the cause.

“Eivor, come here. Please?”

Vili has one arm extended fingers splayed and reaching and for a moment Eivor looks like he might bolt in the opposite direction, but then he is shuffling forward, leaning much of his weight against Vili.

Vili wraps one arm around Eivor’s midsection and rests his other hand on the back of Eivor’s head, gently pressing it against his shoulder. Eivor’s hands are fisted in Vili’s cloak and tunic, pulling tight despite the fact that the rest of his body seems to hang loose against him. Perhaps for the first time he is consciously aware of just how much more he's grown than Eivor over the last few years. 

_How did I fail to notice this?_

It has been years since they’d shared something as simple as a hug. At some point, after a childhood of hugging and sitting close and hands held while sitting in this very same place, they had just _stopped_. Hugs became shoulder checks and slaps on the back, staring from across the room replaced proximity, holding hands became silly nicknames. Somewhere along the way they grew up, but they forgot to bring their joys and pleasures with them. He doesn’t know when it happened, he just knows that it did.

“I’m sorry,” Vili repeats, unsure now if he’s said it a million times out loud or only in his head. Unsure now if he’s apologizing for leaving or apologizing for having been afraid to continue showing his affections, as if he had left a long time ago.

“If I say I forgive you, will you stop saying you’re sorry?” Eivor asks, quietly.

Vili steps back from Eivor, looks down into his eyes, they are still wet, but Eivor is smiling, just a little.

He had meant for his hands to rest on Eivor’s shoulders, but instead they are holding his neck and face. He had meant to give Eivor’s shoulders a friendly squeeze, but his fingers are caressing jawline and cheekbones and earlobes in turn. He feels like he is standing on the edge of a precipice and the choice is his if he falls or steps back and walks away.

“Do you really forgive me?” Vili asks.

“Not yet, arse-stick, but I will.”

Vili laughs, he can’t help it, and the strangest thought is running through his head.

_Ask me to stay and I will stay._

_Ask me to stay..._

Eivor’s hands are no longer fisting his tunic, now they are holding Vili’s hips tightly, despite the layers in the way.

Vili swipes a thumb below Eivor's left eye to wipe away a lingering bit of moisture. Eivor is staring at him intently with his cool blue eyes and Vili thinks his heart is going to explode. Vili leans down, hands slipping to Eivor’s throat, their foreheads press against each other for a moment, and Vili feels Eivor’s breath against his lips. All time seems to be eternal.

“I swear to the gods,” Eivor says, a beautiful, breathy sound, “if you don’t do something soon, I will never forgive you.”

Vili knows he can not have that.

Their first kiss is soft, barely a kiss, more like a caress. Vili feels a hand grip the back of his neck, blunt nails digging in surprisingly hard. Vili feels encouraged, starts to explore Eivor with lips and teeth and tongue, placing little nips and kisses along Eivor’s jawline and throat, giving Eivor’s scars an exploratory lick, wondering how much he can still feel there.

Eivor shudders, pushes up against Vili, groans at the attention. He’s trying hard to open Vili’s tunic one handed and Vili can feel his frustration. Vili wants nothing more than to feel Eivor’s hands on him, but then what? They do this thing and then he leaves? Wouldn’t that just tear the wound open further? 

_Tell me not to go._

Vili pulls away from Eivor, feels Eivor lose his grip. He tries to walk away but he stumbles over his own feet, regains his balance, curses his stupidity. He’s not even drunk.

“Vili…”

A battlefield is waiting for him in England, and it would be easier to navigate than this one.

“We can’t do this, Eivor. Not now. It will only make things worse.” He keeps walking, unsure if Eivor is following, he just knows he has to get away from _here_ , from memories and dreams.

“Please stay?”

Vili’s breath and footsteps, possibly even his heart, all stop at once. He looks back at Eivor.

“Just for tonight. And then you can go off to your war and your glory.”

It’s not the _stay_ that Vili had been thinking of, but perhaps it will be enough.

“You know, you could always come with me. No one would turn down your axe.”

“I…”

Vili raises a hand to silence Eivor. He knows what Eivor will say, that Kjotve still draws breath and so he must stay. Something tightens in Vili’s chest, it would seem they both know how to make the other hurt. Vili gestures for Eivor to follow him. 

“Come on, let’s go back.”

Vili hears Eivor’s footfalls as he catches up, feels Eivor’s hand grab his, their fingers tangling together.

Another story in the meadow drawing to a close.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s committing this sight to memory, noting where Eivor’s few tattoos are, and where there is naught but blank skin, so he can recall them again, during lonely nights on distant shores, and wonder at which new ones have made a home on the tapestry of Eivor’s skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This definitely flies in the face of canon as far as what Ubi does with the Eivor/Vili relationship. But aside from moving those goal posts around, no major main storyline/game changing alterations have been made. 
> 
> Rating and tags have definitely been updated. I wasn't 100% sure how this was going to go until it got there. 
> 
> Sorry this took so long to update, it was a complete roller coaster from start to finish and I changed everything like 100 times.

Vili is caught off guard when Eivor practically pounces on him once the fire is going in his small, one roomed home; so much so that he stumbles back into the door, almost certain he hears the door’s integrity give way more than a little.

Vili unpins Eivor’s cloak and lets it fall to the floor, watches as Eivor removes his tunic and lets it join the cloak. Vili wants to close the little distance remaining between the two of them, but he feels rooted to the floor.

“What’s wrong?” Eivor asks. He sounds genuinely concerned.

“I’ve never done this before,” Vili replies, still staring at Eivor, who he’s seen shirtless many times before.

 _But not like this_.

“What do you mean?” Eivor actually laughs, albeit awkwardly, “I’ve seen you go off with all sorts in Stavanger.”

“Not someone I ever cared about.”

_Well, there it is, then, isn’t it?_

As soon as the words are out of Vili’s mouth, a faint flush crosses much of Eivor’s exposed skin, the moonlight coming in from the window mixes with the light of the fire, giving the flush a strange sort of glow. It breaks whatever fears were rooting Vili’s feet to the floor. He closes the remaining space between them, one hand going to Eivor’s hip the other to the back of his neck to bring them together. At first the kiss is calm, gentle, still tentative and new, and then Eivor lets out this _sound_ , a sound of want and need that goes straight to Vili’s core. His fingernails are digging into Eivor’s hip and neck and he’s biting at Eivor’s lower lip, feels breath against his face, warm and inviting.

Eivor is fumbling with the clip of Vili’s cloak, letting it fall to the ground when he finally unpins it. Vili wants to take off his tunic, but he also doesn’t want to stop touching Eivor, and he is beyond grateful they hadn’t come back in any kind of actual armor. Tunics and belts and cloaks and boots were bad enough. He laughs a little at his own thoughts, Eivor slipping his hands underneath Vili’s tunic after he’s successfully done away with Vili’s belts, one hand exploring the waistline of his pants, the other making a trail up Vili’s torso from stomach to chest. When Eivor’s fingers flick over one of his nipples, Vili gasps audibly and pulls away from Eivor, momentarily breathless.

Eivor smiles, does it again, more deliberately, and Vili grinds into the other man’s hip, he can tell that Eivor is just as hard as he is. Eivor starts working Vili’s tunic up further and he helps by lifting it up over his head, and before he can do anything Eivor has Vili’s nipple in his mouth and Vili thinks his head might explode. He grinds harder against Eivor, one hand twisting itself in Eivor’s dark braid, the other fumbling with his breeches, afraid that none of this will last long if Eivor keeps _that_ up.

“Get these off,” Vili whispers hoarsely in Eivor’s ear, braid still wrapped around his hand, his words falling somewhere between commanding and begging, but he doesn’t give Eivor a chance to react before he’s guiding Eivor down to the edge of the bed, kissing, bitting, sucking at exposed skin.

“Fuck, Vili, you have to let me _do_ it,” Eivor is laughing through heavy breaths and Vili tries to center himself, gain control, eyes shut tight. He releases Eivor’s braid, moves back a little on his knees to give Eivor room. All these years, everything bottled up, threatening to explode all at once.

A boot hits the floor. Another.

Vili takes a deep breath, eyes still shut as the sound of shifting fabric fills his ears, followed by the sound of weight rearranged on bedding. He exhales, opens his eyes, grins at what he sees.

Eivor is leaning back on the bed, propped on his elbows, braid draped over one shoulder, his chest and stomach moving with his breaths, heavy with anticipation. Eivor’s lips are parted, just enough to show his _want_ , one of his lean, muscular legs is casually draped over the edge of the bed, the other propped up, bent at the knee, his erection unabashedly on display.

Something groans from deep inside of Vili. Still on his knees, he starts to fumble with his own boots, his eyes still on Eivor, who is turning into an absolute tease, one hand gripping his erection firmly but stroking slowly, even gently. 

Vili returns to his feet with a quickness people often forget he possesses, kicks off his boots and the last of his clothing to join the other garments strewn about the floor, his own erection finally free of its confines. 

He watches Eivor, biting his lower lip, hand still clenched around his erection. He’s committing this sight to memory, noting where Eivor’s few tattoos are, and where there is naught but blank skin, so he can recall them again, during lonely nights on distant shores, and wonder at which new ones have made a home on the tapestry of Eivor’s skin.

“Afraid you'll forget me?” Eivor asks, the words alone seem like a joke, but Eivor’s voice conveys a kind of worry.

“I would deserve the coldest place in Hel if I did,” Vili replies and Eivor smiles, thumbs the head of his cock, causes himself to gasp at his own attention, like he was surprised by how good it felt. “You are doing that on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Doing what?” Eivor asks.

“Acting like you are so blissfully unaware of what you are doing.”

Vili smiles and crawls onto the bed, makes his way to Eivor, bites the knuckles of the hand on Eivor’s erection. Eivor squirms and Vili smiles broader, trails his tongue across the back of Eivor’s hand until it slips to his cock, Eivor digs one heel into the bedding and groans loudly. Vili can picture the toes of his other foot curling against the floor. 

Vili swipes at Eivor’s cock with his tongue, pressing flesh firmly against flesh, Eivor’s free hand is in Vili’s hair now, blunt nails and rough, already calloused fingertips digging into Vili’s scalp. Eivor’s breaths are sharp and uneven and it is driving Vili mad.

Without warning, he takes as much of Eivor’s cock in his mouth as he can, sucks hard, presses his tongue flat against its length. Eivor’s moan of pleasure rings loud in Vili’s ears as he bucks up into the warmth of Vili’s mouth. It’s a little more than Vili can handle and he has to place a hand firmly on Eivor’s hip to try to hold him in place. Eyes watering, Vili lets Eivor’s cock slip from his mouth.

“It’s not an endless chasm you damned troll,” Vili is coughing a little; laughing a little, too.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Eivor is practically petting Vili’s head, “it just feels so damned good.”

“I’m flattered, really."

Vili removes his hand from Eivor’s hip for a moment, wipes his eyes. Eivor is still holding his erection firmly. He’s not sure how this hasn’t completely killed the mood, but it hasn’t. Vili resettles himself on the bed, they are at a terrible angle for their body sizes but Vili makes the best of it, puts his hand back on Eivor’s hip, looks across his body to catch Eivor’s eyes with his.

“Try not to choke me this time,” Vili suggests playfully. A blush is creeping across Eivor’s cheeks strangely colored in the moonlight once more and Vili doesn’t give him a chance to respond before he’s taking Eivor into his mouth again. Fingernails dig into Vili’s scalp, Eivor’s breathing is sporadic, his moans and hips pleading, Vili digs his own blunt nails into Eivor’s hips to settle him.

Vili can taste the first drops of Eivor’s seed in his mouth, so different from anything that’s ever been there before, and not altogether unpleasant. He let’s Eivor’s cock slip out a little, sucks at the head gently, runs his tongue along the wet slit. Eivor is so tense now and Vili thinks he might have forgotten how to breath. He loosens his grip on Vili’s hip and gently caresses Eivor’s stomach - first with the rough pads of his fingers, then with his knuckles - until Eivor takes a full, hissed breath. Vili smiles around the cock in his mouth, turns his attention back to the task at hand. Before long, the hand that had been holding Eivor’s cock was resting on Vili’s hand where it still caressed Eivor’s stomach.

Vili can feel Eivor’s erection twitching and pulsing in his mouth as it moves in and out of the warm wetness. Vili’s own cock is doing much the same, twitching, demanding to be touched by something other than the furs below him, but Vili won't let it happen, not yet, because at the end of the day, this was for Eivor, the one that was going to get left behind, and Vili just hopes that he can - for his own sake - give Eivor something better to remember him by.

The taste of Eivor is growing stronger and he’s starting to thrust into Vili’s mouth again, but this time Vili lets him. He fists the hand that had been on Eivor’s stomach in the furs instead, worried that he might hurt Eivor if he bares down. Eivor’s hand follows and grips his wrist tightly as he continues to buck into Vili’s mouth. 

Vili takes it the best he can, closes his eyes against the stinging water gathering there, focuses on the feel of Eivor’s cock as it slides in and out of his mouth, the feel of his own cock twitching against the furs, the sounds of Eivor absolutely losing himself - a whimper and a cry and a moan, all rolled into one - hand held tight around Vili’s wrist.

Vili moans around Eivor’s cock when he feels it pulse thickly inside his mouth before releasing his seed, a warm sensation amongst all the others that Vili is feeling. Eivor is moaning out Vili’s name, nails digging in Vili’s scalp and wrist, writhing while Vili does his best not to gag or choke while reveling in the sublime taste of Eivor in his mouth. He’s afraid to swallow, nothing in his throat seems stable right now, until he gives Eivor slowly softening cock one last suck before it slips from his mouth. 

Vili readjusts himself, the arm that had been taking most of his weight tingling beneath him. He flops onto his back, his cock hard and demanding attention, stretches the tingling arm, brushes Eivor’s side with the same hand. 

“Did you…” Eivor starts to ask through gasps for air, then stops.

Vili closes his eyes, smiles as he swallows the last of Eivor’s seed, then hums an affirmative kind of sound.

“What do I taste like?”

At this point, nothing is strange between them, but Vili is not sure how to answer, the taste is already fading from his mouth.

“Like you?” He suggests, then rolls towards Eivor and catches his lips in a kiss, finds it completely unsurprising that Eivor seems to be searching for the taste himself. Vili huffs and smiles into the kiss - happy to stay like this forever - until his erection reminds him that it needs tending to. 

Vili breaks the kiss, rolls off the bed, stands on legs he’s not certain he can trust. He idly strokes his erection a couple times as if to say _yes, yes, you’re next_. 

“Do you have any kind of slick...oil?” Vili asks, trying to gaze around the room for something, the task made difficult by the flickering shadows cast by the fire. Eivor doesn’t have much in the way of little objects in his house, but Vili wouldn’t be able to tell what anything was in this awkward lighting, anyway. 

“What for?” Eivor asks and Vili gives him a sideways glance, eyebrows raised.

“You’re doing it again,” Vili says through a grunt.

“Doing wh…”

“Playing dumb. I know I’m not the only one who finds pleasure in Stavanger.”

Eivor is silent for a few moments and Vili smiles, certain that if he were in the moonlight still, he’d be able to see a flush creep across Eivor’s body again. 

“There is a small vial on the table in the corner, from Valka. It’s for my scars. Sometimes they feel tight and it’s painful. It is cool and soothing, helps to ease the pain and the tightness.”

Vili locates the vial, uncorks it, sniffs. It smells vaguely earthy but mostly odorless, he pours out a small droplet and rubs it between his fingers. It's cold and indeed has a soothing quality to it. It was better than anything he could have hoped for without preplaning. 

Vili looks back at Eivor who hasn’t moved an inch and for a second Vili thinks the damned troll may have fallen asleep, but then Eivor turns his head and seems to stare into Vili’s soul. Vili makes a show of having found the vial.

Eivor smiles a little and slowly, languidly, repositions himself on the bed so he’s lying on it more or less in the usual manner, still on his back, one hand draped across his stomach, the other slowly swirling atop the furs. Vili joins him on the bed, hisses when his cock presses up against Eivor’s side.

“Roll on your side, facing the wall,” Vili’s words have become a husky whisper. Eivor repositions himself quietly and leans back against Vili when he moves into spoon him after having applied some of the oil to his fingers. Vili slips one arm under Eivor’s head, slips the other between them.

Vili leans his head in close to Eivor, mouth at the other man’s ear, his tongue reaching out to flick it and then lick the sensitive bit of flesh. Eivor lets out a quiet puff of air.

“Ready?” Vili asks, and Eivor nods silently, his body doing its best to relax against the solid presence of Vili’s body. 

Vili buries his face in Eivor’s neck, breathing softly on Eivor’s scars. He slips one slicked finger inside Eivor, just enough to allow him to start adjusting to the feeling. Vili knows that even if you want it, sometimes, at first, it can feel truly awkward.

Vili’s lips are pressed against Eivor’s scars and he’s humming a wordless tune against Eivor’s flesh, his erection throbbing mercilessly between their bodies; it takes every bit of willpower he has to ignore it. He slides the finger inside Eivor as far as it can go and Eivor breathes in sharply, but exhales a breathy moan. The sound sends butterflies throughout Vili’s body. His erection throbs again. 

“Where is the bottle?” Eivor asks and Vili produces it in the hand that’s near Eivor’s head. He lifts up on his elbow, Vili’s finger moving inside him now, applies some of the oil to his right hand and gives the bottle back to Vili. When Eivor’s hand slips behind him and in between their bodies to grasp Vili’s erection, Vili barks out a loud groan against Eivor’s neck.

“Be careful, or this preparation will be for nothing,” Vili bites at Eivor’s neck when he can feel the other man vibrate slightly against him with a silent chuckle. He continues to stroke Vili’s erection slowly and Vili repays in kind by sliding another finger inside Eivor, wishing deeply that his cock was in him instead.

They are both becoming writhing messes, breathing hard, grinding against each other, Eivor stroking and Vili fingering, their skin sticky with sweat and now Valka’s oil. The strain is unbearable and Vili knows if he doesn’t keep his focus elsewhere it would be so easy to spill his seed on Eivor's back. Vili slips a third finger inside Eivor but his impatience gets the best of him and it's too soon. Eivor goes stiff as a board and Vili can hear his teeth bite down on a groan. Vili goes completely still.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Vili whispers against the shell of Eivor’s ear.

“It's ok. Really. I swear. But if this takes any longer you’re going to have to take me to England with you just so you can finish fucking me, arse-stick.”

Vili thrusts his fingers into Eivor again, he’s laughing and kissing Eivor’s shoulder and arm and he’s fairly certain this whole thing has completely wrecked his sanity. Not even an hour ago this all seemed so difficult and now it felt like they had been like this for a lifetime. 

“Are you certain?”

Eivor nods his head, his words come out in a harsh whisper. “Yes, _please_ , fuck me Vili.”

The words go straight to Vili’s groin where they form a tight, burning ball of lust. He sits up and slips fingers and erection away from Eivor who immediately groans at the loss. Now that he’s sitting he can see that Eivor is getting hard again and that image joins the lust in his groin. He searches for something to wipe his hand on, opting for something that doesn’t belong to him because, unlike Vili, Eivor doesn’t have to walk out of here with the same clothes he walked in with.

“On your stomach,” Vili suggests, and Eivor rolls over quickly, his cock now trapped between body and fur. Vili recaptures the vial of oil, and applies more of it to his erection, positions himself between Eivor’s splayed legs and stretches out to cover Eivor’s beautiful body. He slips one arm under Eivor’s body, presses the palm of his hand against Eivor’s chest, the pads of his fingers pressing into his flesh firmly and places gentle, distracting kisses between Eivor’s shoulder blades. 

Carefully, Vili positions his cock and slow slips the head inside Eivor. They both inhale sharply and groan, possibly for entirely different reasons. Vili can feel Eivor’s heart beating wildly. He rests his forehead on the back of Eivor’s mostly shaved skull.

“Eivor?” 

“Keep going,” Eivor replies, his voice husky. Vili can picture Eivor’s pupils enlarged with lust, taking up so much of those blue abysses Eivor had for eyes. He thrusts back against Vili a little and Vili’s cock slips in further and now there is a blinding white explosion in front of Vili and he so badly wants to crash into Eivor over and over again, find a place where he can hide and never come out.

Vili is cursing into the back of Eivor’s neck, filing him to the hilt, sliding back out, the back in, a slow, torturous process until Eivor starts to lift himself from the bed, to try and get on his hands and knees. Vili shifts his weight off of Eivor and gets back to his own knees. 

They are both frozen like stone, breathing hard, shaking, Vili is still cursing in his head and then Eivor is pushing softly back against Vili and that white light is back in front of his eyes and he’s sliding into Eivor, his hands on Eivor’s hips his breaths coming in shorter, faster fits, like he can’t get enough air and the sounds Eivor is making are fucking _divine_.

“Vili…”

Vili spits in one hand, finds Eivor’s cock and closes his hand around it, letting his thrusts push Eivor cock in his fist. Much of his weight is on Eivor’s back now, his free hand palming the back of Eivor’s head, his forehead resting against Eivor’s back.

Vili speeds up his thrusts, tries to keep a steady pace and Eivor is pushing back against him and Vili’s release is building, building in the white hot light that is expanding before his eyes, Eivor moaning and breathing heavily before him. 

“Vili…”

“Fuck, Eivor…”

Vili feels blinded now, so he closes his eyes, but the white hot light follows him into the darkness and Eivor is fucking his hand and Vili is fucking Eivor and sometimes he’s confused as to which is which and then he feels Eivor’s cock pulsing and Eivor is gasping and groaning and cursing and Vili keeps thrusting into the heat and tightness of Eivor’s body until he just can’t hold back anymore and he is gasping and panting and digging his fingers into Eivor’s shoulder and the hand that was on his cock is now wrapping tightly around Eivor’s chest, making a mess, but Vili doesn’t care because his release is washing over him...

like a calming wave 

and Eivor 

is below him, 

steadfast and strong 

and utterly his.

  
  
  
  
  


_“I want to be a mighty Drengr and you will be my Jarl and we will cut down our enemies…”_

_“Jarl is more Sigurd’s dream, I’d rather just fight by your side…”_

_“Fine, then, Sigurd will be our Jarl and we will make a fine pair of Drengir, roaming the lands to fight for our home and our king until the Valkyrie come calling…”_

  
  
  
  
  


Vili wakes with a start, his face buried in the crook where Eivor’s neck and shoulder meet. He tries to figure out what woke him, but the settlement is relatively quiet and nothing is amiss in Eivor’s little house. The fire has died down to a bed of coals and the sun is peeking in through various places.

Vili groans and starts to untangle himself from Eivor, how either of them had fallen asleep like this was beyond him. He doesn’t want to go, would happily stay in this bed with Eivor forever, but he knows he has to start moving or he might truly never leave.

Slowly, carefully, Vili crawls over Eivor and manages to get out of the bed without much sound or disturbance to Eivor’s restful state. Getting dressed, however, proves to be an all together different matter. He wears too many belts and buckles and little clangy things to be quiet. In retrospect, Vili wonders how he ever manages to be the least bit inconspicuous. 

Eivor shifts in the bed, groans into a pillow. 

Vili feels bad for waking him, but it wasn’t as if he was going to leave without saying goodbye. He would have had to, eventually.

“Sneaking out?” Eivor asks, blue eyes crisp in the morning sun. There is a smile on Eivor’s face, but Vili is fairly certain it is hiding other things behind it.

“Never,” Vili puts a hand to his chest like the mere thought was a dishonor to his name, “I just thought I’d let you sleep until I was ready to go.”

“You make too much noise for that.” 

Vili snorts and starts putting on his boots. Eivor makes to sit up and seems to discard the idea quickly.

“I feel like I’ve been rendered in two,” Eivor says through a groan. 

Vili smirks, decides to take it as a complement.

An awkward silence hangs in the air between them.

“Vili…”

Vili looks at Eivor inquisitively. 

“Are you leaving...now?” He asks, quietly.

“I really need to. Or else my father is apt to come looking for me and as much as he loves us both, you do not want that.” Eivor laughs, but it is strained noise. “Sigurd said his crew would take me where I need to go. You could come with us for one last trip on the sea.”

“I don’t want to get out of this bed for a week.”

Vili smiles, squats down next to the bed, looks Eivor in the eyes, cups the side of his face with one hand. There are a million things he wants to say, but he worries if he says any of them, they will be the wrong thing to say. His eyes are filling up with tears and so are Eivor’s and if he says anything he knows they will come spilling forth. His hand drops to the bedding, he leans in, presses his forehead to Eivor’s.

“I will miss you, sweet Eivor. Every bit of you.”

The tears are falling now, silently, his and Eivor’s both and Vili no longer cares. Eivor has a death grip on his hand and he just wants to stay like this forever but he can’t.

“I have to go, my friend,” he places a firm kiss on Eivor’s temple and mercifully Eivor releases Vili’s hand.

Vili stands and tries to make it to the door in as few strides as possible.

“Wait…”

_Ask me to stay and I will stay._

Vili is watching Eivor, the tears still evident on both their faces. 

“I…”

Vili’s heart is pounding in his ears.

“Save a few Saxons for me, arse-stick.”

Vili laughs, tries to dry his eyes. “Take care of Kjotve and come find me in England and you can have all of the Saxon heads that you want.”

“Deal.”

Before he can stop himself, Vili is back at the side of the bed. He leans down, catches Eivor’s lips in a harsh, needy kiss, the kind of kiss that will need to sustain him for months, if not years. Vili is not sure if such a thing exists, but he tries to create it, to make it, to will it into existence.

When Vili finally pulls away, Eivor catches his hand.

“Don’t meet the Valkyrie before I get there.” 

It feels like Eivor is staring straight into his soul. Vili places a hand on his chest.

“Never, Eivor. _Never.”_

Eivor smiles and Vili knows he has to leave, _now._ He turns and this time Eivor doesn’t call after him and Vili doesn’t look back. He walks out the door and into the daylight.

  
  
  
  
  


Once Vili is a few dozen steps from Eivor’s house he stops to compose himself before he goes looking for Sigurd.

After a few moments he hears a familiar call circling above him in the sky and before he really has time to think about anything, Synin is landing on his shoulder. 

For a moment, Vili stands stock still, unsure of what to do. Synin has never done this before, never perched on him, or anyone but Eivor as far as he knew. But here she was, as if she had been there all along and he just hadn’t noticed.

“You honor me your highness.”

Slowly Vili reaches out to scratch under her chin, the way he’s seen Eivor do it a hundred times. She lets him pet her that way for a couple minutes, then belts out a gigantic caw that seems all the more loud due to the proximity to Vili’s ear, and flies off into the sky.

Vili smiles, and watches her until she is gone from sight.

Vili takes a deep breath, stops himself from looking behind him, to Eivor’s house, and begins anew his search for Sigurd.

His footsteps are confident and steadfast once more, but Vili can’t help but wonder...is heading towards his destiny or is he leaving it behind?


End file.
